Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Callan’s eyes feast on me before he says, “Christ, you’re a work of art.”
He crawls over me, and when the weight of his naked body settles on top of me, I revel in how good it feels.
He rests a forearm beside my head, and his eyes are filled with love as he says, “Thank you for accepting me and all my shit.”
“Your shit meshes well with my shit,” I tease him.
A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth before he claims me in a passionate kiss. I feel him position his hardness at my opening, and with a hard thrust, he surges inside me.
Within seconds, I lose myself in Callan. My hips move with his, matching his thrusts while my moans and whimpers spill into his mouth.
When Callan pulls his hands away from my eyes, I blink before glancing around me.
My hands fly up to my mouth as I see my paintings hanging on the walls of The Eloise Torres Modern Art Gallery.
Someone pinch me.
Callan insisted on bringing the paintings, and Eloise and her team mounted them on the walls. There’s a spotlight on each art piece while the general lighting in the room is dimmed.
Lowering my hands, I grin like a fool, high on all the happiness I’m experiencing lately.
“Ten minutes until the doors open,” someone calls out.
“Are you ready, baby?” Callan asks, his hand brushing over my lower back.
I shake my head. “I’ll never be ready.”
He lets out a chuckle and wraps his arm around my waist.
Eloise comes around a corner with a man who’s carrying a camera. “There you are.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek, then says, “This is Brian Walsh from the New York Times. He needs a photo of us before the doors open.”
Holy shit. This is amazing!
I smooth out any wrinkles in my black silk dress while asking, “Where do you want me?”
I’ve been dealing much better with the sudden shock every time something good happens.
“In front of Seclusion,” she orders.
It took Eloise and I an entire day to give each painting a name. It was freaking stressful.
“You too,” I hiss at Callan when he doesn’t walk with us.
He shakes his head. “This is your moment, baby.”
I take a deep breath as I pose next to Eloise for my first official photo.
This will be in the New York Times. Everyone will see it.
Including my so-called family.
They will see that I’ve made a success of my art.
I smile, making sure my pride and happiness shine on my face.
The flash blinds me for a moment, then Brian says, “Thank you for your time, and congratulations on your first exhibition.”
“Thank you.”
“Opening in three…” someone calls out, “two…one.”
“Oh God.” I rush to Callan’s side and grip his hand tightly.
“You’ve got this, Lily.” He presses a kiss to my temple, then whispers, “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” I hiss while trying to keep a smile on my face.
Slowly, people stroll into the room, and when I hear the first audible gasp, I blink like crazy to keep my eyes from blurring with tears.
Don’t ruin your makeup!
Callan and I are standing near First Glance, the painting of us, as I look at the guests.
A couple stops in front of The Summit – the painting of the man on top of the pile of people he used to climb to the top.
Not even noticing what I’m doing, I slowly move closer so I can hear what they’re saying.
“Brilliant,” the man murmurs.
“It would look lovely in your office,” his partner remarks.
Letting out a chuckle, he glances at her. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Lillian!” A familiar voice tears my attention away from the couple.
Seeing Ridge, my former boss, I can’t keep a triumphant smile from forming on my face.
He hurries closer and gestures at my artwork. “Your work…it’s…” At a loss for words, he shakes his head before giving me a playful scowl. “You were holding out on me.”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t have time for me, remember?”
He laughs as if I told him the biggest joke. “That’s not true.”
“Sorry, Ridge. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m quite busy right now. Maybe I can make some time for you three years from now.”
Walking away from the absurd man, I return to Callan’s side.
He leans down, asking in a low voice, “Who’s that?”
“My idiot ex-boss.”
Callan wraps his arm protectively around my shoulders, and when a server comes to us, we help ourselves to a glass of champagne.
Eloise weaves elegantly between all the guests, a proud smile gracing her lips.
A man stops in front of First Glance and admires it for a while before signaling the sales representative closer. When he talks to Nate, I can’t hear what they say.
I met Nate when I came to sign the contract with Eloise. He’s worked at the gallery for over ten years.